Page 46 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

I'M CURLED ON THE COUCH, freshly bathed and wrapped in the soft cocoon of my oversized sleep shirt and PJ bottoms. Theold window AC is rattling from across the living room, but I'm so used to it I can mostly tune it out.

My book for book club sits in my lap, but the words blur and dance every time I try to focus on them. Quantum consciousness feels too hard to grasp when my own consciousness keeps splitting into before-and-after pieces of my earlier date.

I flip another page, not absorbing a damn word. But, Sean said reading even one sentence was fine, and I've actually managed to get through chapter one. At least I'll have something to talk about, then I think I'll pick a more approachable book. Something with pictures. A cookbook or maybe one of those self-help books that promises to change your life in thirty days.

Yeah, if only.

A gentle knock at the door sends my heart straight into my throat.

Three soft taps. Deliberate. Patient.

Somehow, I know it's him before he tells me.

"It's Sean."

His voice carries through the wood and a fresh wave of backstage butterflies fill my gut. We need to talk about my freak out earlier; I bet that's why he's here. But where do I even start without telling him about my past?

I move to the door, hesitating with my hand on the first deadbolt as I try to force my face into something resembling composure.

One deadbolt. Two. Three. The chain slides free with a soft metallic scape.

When I open the door, my eyes automatically drop to the floor. Sean isn't wearing his combat boots. Just black socks that reveal the strong curves of his feet.Wow,even his feet look capable and sturdy. I have the absurd thought that he could kill a man with his little toe if he wanted to.

"Can we talk?" His voice is low and gentle in a way that makes me exhale. He doesn't sound annoyed. That's a good sign.

I step aside, making room for him to enter. "Yeah. I think we should."

He moves past, careful to maintain distance. How can someone so physically imposing move in such a controlled way? Like a panther padding through a crowded room of crystal vases, never disturbing a single one.

I close the door behind him and turn each lock slowly to buy myself some extra seconds to gather my thoughts. When I turn around, Sean has positioned himself on my desk chair, as far from the couch as the small living room allows. It's sweet that he's trying to give me space and make me feel comfortable.

I settle on the couch, tucking my feet beneath me, and pat the cushion. "You can sit here. It's okay."

He hesitates, searching my face for confirmation before moving to the couch. He sits at the opposite end, leaving a small canyon between us. I fidget with the pages of my book and the dry scratch of paper against paper is the only sound around us.

I can't look at his face; it's not the resemblance this time but pure mortification. Icompletelyfell apart in front of him. Let him see the raw, ragged edges of my trauma. He must have so many questions, yet I don't think I'm ready to answer any of them. We do need to talk, though. Somehow, I have to explain what happened.

The silence stretches until it threatens to snap, and then…

"I'm sorry."

His words are so unexpected that I glance up, meeting his brown eyes. They're glistening with remorse.

"Why?" I ask. He did the right thing, so no apology is needed.

His body becomes a half-moon and he rests his elbows on his knees. His sigh is like all his crowded thoughts rushing out at once. "I scared you. I shouldn't have reacted so aggressively. When he touched you, I just…" He clenches his jaw, the muscles rippling beneath tan skin. After a beat, he adds, "I should've just told him to back off. So I'm sorry."

The absurdity of the situation hits me. How could he be apologizing when he protected me? I should be the one sayingsorry. I'm the one whose brain couldn't separate savior from attacker.

"I like that you broke his finger."

Sean's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. There's a brief spark of amusement as the corners crinkle. "I only dislocated it. He'll be fine. A doctor can pop it back in."

"Well, that's a shame."

We stare at each other for a moment, our mouths both on the verge of curving up yet we're unsure if this is appropriate. Sean breaks first, letting his teeth peek out as he laughs and dips his head. I join in next, giggling at the absurdity of what we're discussing.

"Noted," he says. "My client prefers broken bones."

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